


The Sixth Night

by CommanderMerone



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Character Death, Gen, POV Second Person, michael's referenced as the phone guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2179368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderMerone/pseuds/CommanderMerone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looks like Franklin has a new job! It seems legit, and even if the pay’s shitty, it’s better than doing a bunch of frivolous shit for nothing. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sixth Night

Your name is Franklin Clinton, and it’s already 5:30 AM.  
  
You and your friend Lamar Davis are working the nightshift at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, and you’re both just praying to make it through today. After hours upon hours of dealing with hellish animatronics, you’re ready for these thirty minutes to be up already, and they aren’t making it easy on you. “They” being Freddy and his friends. Foxy’s already been down to the office, and he’s the reason you two are so low on power now. But… Lamar figures you’ll be fine, and you want to believe him.  
  
Then again, he always was a bit too optimistic.  
  
You don’t see Chica until it’s too late, and by then Lamar’s already stepped out the door to check on things. When she grabs him, you go to try and pull him back, his name already halfway out of your mouth, when he interrupts you.  
  
"Frank, just close the door!"  
  
You want to argue. Any other time, in any other situation, you know you’d argue. But you just don’t have the time to. Your eyes meet when you press the button, everything slowing down for a few moments. You try to tell him how sorry you are, and he just grins. Like now was the time! The door slams shut before you can do anything else for him, and you hear him being dragged off as you try not to freak out.  
  
You can hear him screaming around 5:45.

A few minutes later, Bonnie tries to come in on his usual side. He’s blocked with a quick door slam, so you check the cameras, only to realize that Freddy’s left the stage. As the laughing sounds throughout the halls, Lamar’s screams start to die down. Chica comes back, and you end up losing the last of your power shutting her out.  
  
You hate that goddamn chicken.  
  
The bear’s face flashes just out of your peripheral vision, and you go limp. Mike didn’t seem to believe in that suggestion of his, but it was all you had to defend yourself right now.  
  
It stinks. The bear’s in your face now, playing a song, and it _stinks_. Freddy’s just… staring at you, eyes unblinking and placid, as you both wait for the song to end. It’s not even distorted or anything, like you thought a broken childhood thing would sound, it’s just… normal. Which somehow makes it worse.  
  
You don’t notice the time change until the silence settles in. Everything just… stopped, and suddenly you aren’t staring that fucking bear in the face. He’s gone all too quickly, almost like he was some sort of hallucination, like you didn’ just smell the horrid decay that filled the room just moments before.

It still lingers. You ignore it.  
  
Why? Maybe, just maybe, the rest of this actually is some sort of hallucination!  
  
You keep telling yourself that as you shakily leave the seat you were just stuck to, and stagger down the hall in search of Lamar. Mike mentioned something about “checking the back rooms” and you figure that Lamar’d probably be hiding back there. After all, he heard the message too, and that’d be a hell of a good way to fuck with you. That… that would be just like him, you know it.  
  
You don’t see any signs of struggle leading up to the room. If you do, you’re doing a really good job at ignoring it in favor of your “he’s just joking” theory. Which isn’t a theory at all, you remind yourself, but the truth. You keep it up until the smell off blood assaults your nostrils, and it stops you just outside the door.  
  
You shouldn’t look.  
You shouldn’t look.  
You really shouldn’t fucking look.  
  
But you do. Because you’re stupid. And you find yourself outside before you can have a full breakdown, not wanting to spend another second in that fucked-up pizzeria.  
  
You find that 6 AM does not bring the relief it used to.  
  
Instead, it makes you sick. _As if that was the only thing. You’re delusional, kid._ How do you get to make it out when Lamar’s still… _stuck_ in there? If all you needed was time, then why didn’t he get enough? You were so, so fucking _close_! Why were you left alone? Freddy fucking had you in his grasp, and you… you just fucking lucked out. Just you. Alone, shaking, and stuck with that stupid song and Lamar’s screams, all echoing in your head.  
  
You’re so overwhelmed by your luck that you vomit, the bile burning your throat and giving you an unneeded excuse for your messy sobbing.  
  
You don’t sleep today.


End file.
